


Far Too Beautiful To Leave Me

by thotinhoekenshield



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dead Characters Watching the Living, Dead Dwarves and Lots Of Them (Probably? Maybe?), Dwarves in the Shire, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Fluff, Follows canon But To a Point, Frodo can see ghosts, Healing, I guess I'll update these tags as I go along, M/M, Oblivious Bilbo, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is a Softie, ghost! thorin, hint hint, its not as creepy as it sounds its just sad, kind of?, like. REALLY Constipated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thotinhoekenshield/pseuds/thotinhoekenshield
Summary: Bilbo returns to the Shire following the Battle of the Five Armies and has to learn how to go on with his life knowing that the one he loved is dead. However, it seems that Bilbo did not return to Bag End alone. Meanwhile, though he is dead and has passed on to Mahal's halls, Thorin remains and lingers as a ghost and watches over Bilbo as he grows old. The catch? Bilbo cannot perceive him. There is one, however, who can.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Drogo Baggins/Primula Brandybuck, Dwalin/Nori (Tolkien)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for reading this! Basically, this fic was inspired when my gc was talking about sad headcanons and one of them was "what if Thorin lives in Bag End as a ghost and the only one who can see him is Frodo", so this is my take on that. This is my first fic in years so it might be a bit rusty, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!
> 
> Shoutout to Fili Gang for the inspiration!! I love you all :)

It was an empty and lifeless smial that greeted Bilbo on his return from the East. All of his possessions, family heirlooms, furniture and other comforts had been ransacked and removed in the apparent haste to pronounce Bilbo dead and pass Bag End on to a new owner - the Sackville-Bagginses, Aule forbid. It was a homecoming that seemed to befit Bilbo's state of mind, bleak and miserable. It had been a long few months on the road from Erebor, a time in which Bilbo had still failed to come to terms with the death of the love of his life.

Bilbo stepped inside the dusty and silent smial, letting the door slam shut behind him with a heavy _bang_. For a moment, there was silence as he stood in a home he no longer recognised and tried to make sense of it all. Then, he let his bags and chest drop to the ground and he himself dropped down beside them. A choked sob forced its way out of his throat, and he buried his head in his hands, finally letting the tears come again. He wished his adventure had not ended this way. He wished he hadn't had to watch Thorin die right in front of him, cold hands clasped in his, blue eyes blank and unseeing. But most of all, he wished he had actually had the courage to tell the handsome dwarf that he loved him. It would be a regret that Bilbo would carry with him for the rest of his days. Now here he sat, devastated and alone and exhausted, with nothing to bring him comfort. And so the tears kept coming, and they kept coming. It was well past dinner time when Bilbo's tears ceased and he dragged his aching body to the bathroom.

Bilbo did not recognise the hobbit that stared back at him in the mirror. Where once he had a respectable round belly from living on seven meals a day and a healthy, round face, Bilbo found himself staring at a clearly starved hobbit with a dangerously flat belly and a thin, gaunt face. When he turned to the side, he could count the ribs he could see on one hand. It wasn't as if he had been deliberately starved on the road, but on the journey East he had been forced down to a maximum of three meals a day, and on the return journey he simply couldn't stomach any more than that out of sheer grief. With a deep sigh, Bilbo turned from the mirror and began to run himself a bath to scrub weeks' worth of sweat and dirt from his body. As the steam rose from the tub, it seemed to coalesce into a vaguely humanoid shape, but Bilbo dismissed such a silly notion and turned off the taps. He sighed as he slid into the tub, the heat of the water driving the pain from his mind momentarily. He was grateful to have this, at least. In his mind, as he scrubbed himself clean, he began to make plans to retrieve his stolen property. No doubt it would be time consuming and arduous since he doubted few hobbits would want to give up their piece of Bag End, but what was a few grumpy hobbits compared to trolls or orcs or losing the one you loved? _Ah_ , Bilbo thought. It seemed there was no escape, no respite from his grief after all. Not even in the form of a hot, comforting bath. Eventually, Bilbo hauled himself out of the bath, ran a dusty towel over his body and shuffled to the bedroom. He found himself too tired to care about supper, and all he wanted was to drag himself into bed and fall deeply asleep. Maybe, just maybe, his adventure had been a dream, and he would wake up free of grief and pain again. But somehow, he thought, he doubted that highly. As he lay himself down to sleep, he thought about the last time he had laid in his bed. The night his wonderful, ridiculous dwarves entered his home and tossed his mother’s dishes around like they weighed nothing at all. The night that had started it all. The night that he had fallen in love with deep blue eyes, dark hair streaked with silver and a deep, soulful voice that had eventually coaxed him out of his front door and into the world beyond the Shire. Bilbo could still hear that voice in his mind, no matter whether it was singing a wistful song about reclaiming home, or telling him he had no place in the company, or tenderly speaking of acorns and the Shire. Bilbo knew he would never forget that voice as long as he lived. With tears once again forming in his eyes, Bilbo turned over and stared longingly at the empty half of his bed. “Goodnight, Thorin,” he whispered to himself, before closing his eyes and allowing sleep to claim him.

And if a ghostly figure with deep blue eyes and dark hair streaked with silver kept watch over Bilbo as he slept, then he was absolutely none the wiser.

***

The next morning, Bilbo was slow to rise. His dreams during the night had been disorienting and upsetting, and he had woken in frightened disarray. Now, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, Bilbo set about the business for the day. First, he decided, he would visit the market and restock his depleted pantry. He would have strong words about that with those dwarves of his when he could find the emotional strength to write them. Then, he would set about trying to recover his possessions from, it seemed, the entire Shire. Perhaps he would even drop by and see Holman Greenhand and thank him for keeping his garden in good condition. _Yes_ , Bilbo thought. _Time to get back to reality_. Before setting out, Bilbo moved his discarded bags and chest of gold into his study and stuffed them away under a loose floorboard. It would be a good hiding spot if any treasure seekers came nosing around. Or Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, for that matter. Then, he returned to the lobby and stood for a moment in front of his door. Undoubtedly, there would be gossip and snide whispers following him about today, which did nothing to ease Bilbo’s peace of mind, but he was strong. He had, after all, outmaneuvered a dragon and stole from him. Dealing with rude hobbits should be simple. In theory, at least.

Bright sunlight hit Bilbo’s eyes as he finally swung the door open, basket in hand. Tentatively, he stepped out onto the steps leading to the door and surveyed his surroundings. He was surprised to find that many of his belongings that had been up for auction had been left on his lawn overnight, and he took a few minutes to move some of the lighter pieces inside; his mother’s glory box, for example, still stained by Kili’s muddy dwarven bootprints. Bilbo made note to never remove that stain. As he finished moving his writing desk inside, he heard a cheerful voice behind him. “Mornin’, Mr Bilbo, sir! I ‘eard you was back in town!” it said. Bilbo turned to face Holman Greenhand, accompanied by a younger hobbit with dark blonde curly hair. Bilbo forced a smile. “Morning, Holman! Indeed, I got back yesterday afternoon, but I’ve got some property to chase up today,” he replied, grimacing at the thought of the auction. Holman gave Bilbo a sympathetic look. “Ah, the auction! I ‘eard about that I did, I kept tellin’ folks that you’d be back any day now, but they weren’t takin’ none of it. Do you wan’ a hand with your search? Young Hamfast and I would be glad to help,” he said. The young hobbit, Hamfast, nodded in agreement. Bilbo let out a sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you but honestly that would be a huge help,” he admitted. Holman smiled brightly and clapped Bilbo jovially on the shoulder. “On it, Mr. Bilbo, sir! Now you do whatever you need to do, sir, and me apprentice and I’ll go and fetch some of yer belongings. Doubtless you’ll be needin’ ‘em!” He replied, before he and Hamfast turned and disappeared down the lane. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. At least there were still some hobbits left who wouldn’t treat him with suspicion.

As Bilbo suspected, there were plenty of whispers that followed him around the marketplace. Though for the most part nothing was said directly to his face, Bilbo could feel eyes on him and could hear loud whispers following him around as he went from stall to stall. He knew his disappearance with a band of dwarves would do nothing for his reputation, but in his absence it seemed he underestimated the nastiness of the whispers that followed him and the barely concealed suspicion he was treated with. This all came to a head at the bread stall, when he suddenly became confronted with a very grumpy Lobelia. Bilbo heard her approach from meters away but made no move to acknowledge her, not until her frilly yellow parasol was thrust under his nose. “You have some nerve showing your face here again, Bilbo Baggins!” she shrieked as a way of greeting. Bilbo sighed and turned to face her. “Trust me, Lobelia, I am _well_ aware,” he said, already tense from what he knew was bound to be an unpleasant conversation. Out of habit, his hand jerked towards his left hip where Sting used to be strapped. But curiously, a cold sensation came over his hand, and his movement was stayed until Bilbo lowered his hand, the urge to reach for Sting and the cold feeling dissipating as quickly as they had come. “I’ll have you know I was all set to move in to Bag End, and then you had the cheek to show up! Look at you, all scarred and... dirty! You are not worthy of Bag End! You should never have come back,” Lobelia screamed. By now, a small crowd had gathered and Bilbo began to feel rather sick. Suddenly, no longer could he contain his frustration. “Now you look here, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. I know how I may look and I know my respectability has gone down the toilet, but I have seen things you wouldn’t believe, terrible things, and frankly you no longer intimidate me. So listen closely: I am perfectly worthy of my own property, you will NEVER get your thieving hands on Bag End, and I will be round later for the possessions you bought without my consent. Do I make myself clear?” he demanded. At this, Lobelia shivered unwittingly and slowly, ever so slowly, she nodded. “Hmph. That’s settled then. Good day, cousin,” Bilbo snapped, before haughtily turning on his heel and making his way back to Bag End, secretly smug that Lobelia had reacted to his outburst in such a way.

As if sensing Bilbo’s thoughts, a ghostly figure rolled his eyes and looked down at the spectral hands that he had just used to almost wring Lobelia’s neck.

***

Bilbo kept his word to Lobelia, and that afternoon he stomped down to her smial to demand back his property. Naturally, Lobelia was loathed to part with anything, but the presence of an elvish dagger strapped to Bilbo’s hip and the presence of Holman and Hamfast soon forced her hand. In a surprisingly short and relatively argument-free time, Bilbo had most of his property back, sans silver spoons, but Bilbo knew now that there were far more important things in the world than silverware. When Gandalf had told him as much that first night in Bag End, he had been stubborn and doubtful, but now he had been on such a grand adventure, he realised the meddling wizard had been right all along. The three hobbits made their way back up to Bag End with the furniture they had reclaimed, and hauled it up the stairs and into the hallway. “D’you need a hand rearranging your things, Mr Bilbo sir?” Hamfast asked.

“No thank you, Hamfast, I can manage. I thank you for your help all the same, goodness knows how much of my property would still be in Lobelia’s hands if you two hadn’t been there,” Bilbo chuckled.

Hamfast raised one golden eyebrow. “Not sure Holman nor I really did that much to help, I reckon it was all down to that pretty sword of yours, sir,” he said. Bilbo started and glanced down at his left hip where Sting was hanging from his belt. “Ah,” he said quietly. “Forgive me, I rather got into the habit of carrying it during my…. wanderings,” he admitted. “I see. Forgive me for askin’, sir, but what exactly happened on your journey? Where did you go? You were gone for over a year, an’ forgive me for sayin’ so sir, but you don’t seem the same,” Hamfast said. Bilbo opened his mouth but found he could not speak. After suffering such grievous losses, Bilbo found himself quite unable to speak of his adventure, because that would mean having to speak about Thorin, the one he loved more than any other, and how he was cruelly taken from him before he could tell him he loved him. Speaking of his adventure would surely mean him speaking Thorin’s death into existence, where until now, Bilbo had tried hard to not speak of it, as if trying to fool himself into believing it had never happened. But deep in his heart, he knew better. Bilbo felt tears well up in his eyes, and he turned away from Hamfast. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said, before moving to drag his table back into the living room. Hamfast seemed to take that as a hint, and moments later, the door to Bag End softly closed, leaving Bilbo alone in his smial once again.

Or nearly, anyway.

From his position near the door, the ghostly figure watched Bilbo as he attempted to return his smial to a semblance of order with shaking hands. Every so often, Bilbo sniffled and choked sobs could be heard throughout Bag End. The figure of Thorin Oakenshield hung his head and slid to the floor. “Forgive me, Bilbo,” he muttered.

***

The rest of the afternoon passed by without incident. Bilbo skipped luncheon and afternoon tea in order to get his smial back to the way it used to be, but he found that it did not bother him as much as it should have done. A year ago, skipping meals would have been dreadful, but after living on the road and being reduced to far fewer meals for so long, Bilbo had grown accustomed to eating far less than Hobbits should. It had been a major cause for concern during the stay at Laketown when Bilbo revealed to his dwarrow friends just how many meals Hobbits typically ate, and the ensuing conversation had ended with the company calling for more food for him and a slightly inebriated Thorin promising he would never go hungry if he were to stay in Erebor once the mountain was reclaimed.

The last memory gave Bilbo pause. He stood, frozen, in the living room, thinking about what could have been. He wondered if he would have been happy in Erebor, living under halls of stone instead of wood, spending much time in the dark under artificial light instead of natural sunlight, and spending his days doing - what would he do there? Most likely he would do his best to support Thorin and the company, but that raised even more questions. Would he even be accepted there, especially after his actions with the Arkenstone? Bilbo considered it unlikely. He was barely cut out for politics anyway. No, maybe it was for the best that he had returned home to the familiarity and comfort of the Shire. Maybe this is where I belong, he thought. But another part of him begged to differ. A part of him knew that he would have given up any and all of his home comforts if it meant he could have stayed by Thorin’s side. Maybe, if things had gone differently, he could have finally confessed his feelings. Maybe, Bilbo found himself thinking every so often, maybe he could have loved me too. But Bilbo convinced himself that was just fanciful thinking. A king and a Hobbit? Even Bilbo had to admit he wasn’t sure it could have worked. After all, what was he? A simple hobbit, a grocer, barely even a burglar. And Thorin? Well, he had been a leader, a king, a magnificent figure who turned Bilbo’s world upside down. _But what does it matter_ , Bilbo asked himself. _He’s dead._

 _It matters_ , Thorin wanted to say. _Could you have been happy with me? Would you have allowed me to give you my heart, as I see you wish you had been able to give me yours? If I had lived, would you have allowed me to love you the way you deserve?_ These were all questions that he so desperately wanted to ask Bilbo, but he couldn’t. Though he felt so close to the hobbit, going so far as to live as a ghost in the smial with him, they still were separated by the veil of death - a distance that was impossible to overcome. Bilbo could not even see him. Though, one day, there would be someone who would. Not that either of them knew that.

Bilbo’s maudlin thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door. “Oh sweet Yavanna, what now?” he groaned, as he stumbled his way to the hall. Bilbo reluctantly pulled the door open to reveal a young hobbit with dark hair and a concerned expression on his face. The hobbit smiled when he saw Bilbo. “Bilbo! I hope you don’t mind, I heard tell that you had returned and I wanted to check on you myself. I brought you some biscuits, I thought you might be a bit short on food,” he said genially. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile at his younger cousin and opened the door wider to let him in. “Thank you, Drogo. You’re very kind,” he said. Drogo stepped inside and surveyed the smial before him.

“I see you managed to wrangle some of your property back from Lobelia, I thought she’d put up more of a fight,” he commented.

Bilbo snorted. “Yes, well. So did I,” he said. Then he sighed, a deep and tired thing. “Forgive me, Drogo. I don’t feel up for much conversation about my journey, if you understand. I’m sure you were hoping to hear something, but right now…” he trailed off, gesturing aimlessly.

Drogo nodded cautiously. “You feel you cannot speak of it. I understand, cousin. Well, not really, but I do feel for you, truly. You know you can always come to me if you ever do want to talk, I promise not to tell anyone else,” he said earnestly.

“Thank you, Drogo. You’re too good to me, I’m sure I don’t deserve such kindness,” Bilbo replied.

Drogo scoffed. “Nonsense! Don’t let Lobelia get to you again, cousin. She’s wrong, you ought to be treated kindly, regardless of whether you… adventure, or not,” Drogo insisted. Bilbo chuckled. “Well, I suppose… I suppose a little kindness wouldn’t go amiss. I…” he paused. A lump seemed to form in his throat at the prospect of getting the next words out, but he swallowed and carried on. “I won’t go into details, as my grief is still too near, but… I lost someone on my journey. Someone special. I don’t believe I shall find anyone like him ever again, and it is… well, what I mean is, I think I could use some support. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt grief such as this,” Bilbo said quietly. As he stood there, his hand slipped into the pocket of his new coat and his fingers curled around the smooth acorn that rested there. Drogo put his hand comfortingly on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Whatever you need, Bilbo,” he murmured.

In the shadowy corner by the front door, Thorin watched the hobbits’ conversation with a heavy heart. He had never expected Bilbo to feel similarly about him as the way he felt for Bilbo, but even though this almost revelation should have brought him joy, Thorin felt little. For Bilbo was grieving, for him, even after all he had done. And he had done terrible things, hadn’t he? After all, at the journey’s beginning he had belittled him and treated him with a cold indifference, mocking him even though Bilbo had had the grace and courage to host his company in his own home when he was so unprepared. Then he had outright stated that he had no place amongst them, which had caused Bilbo to almost leave them, and likely he would have done if the floor hadn’t opened up beneath them. Thorin had doubted Bilbo up to the moment Bilbo saved his life, and it took him far too long to realise the hobbit’s worth and his loyalty to their cause, when he had no real reason to show such loyalty, except for the kindness in his heart. And then, worst of all, he had allowed the thrall of gold to poison his mind and convince him that Bilbo’s well intentioned actions with the Arkenstone was a betrayal of the highest degree. Thorin had tried to kill him, hadn’t he? He had put his own rough hands on Bilbo’s small wrists and tried to hang him over the ramparts. _And for what?_ Thorin thought bitterly. _All for some precious metal that can easily be replaced. That’s what I put above the life of my One. I could never deserve his forgiveness._

Drogo ended up staying until the late afternoon, when the sun began to set and the Shire was illuminated in the golden light of the approaching evening. Fortunately for Bilbo, the topic of his adventure did not come up in conversation again, instead he tried his best to engage in Drogo’s tales of the Shire and all the gossip he had missed in his absence, all thirteen months’ worth. Though, in comparison with the tales he had been told on his journey, Shire gossip now seemed like dull drivel. And besides, he suspected that Drogo was avoiding telling him of the gossip that revolved around his disappearance. “Ah, I was wondering if you would ask about that,” Drogo said when Bilbo brought it up. “You hadn’t even been gone a day when gossip started making the rounds, I’m afraid. No guesses as to who pedalled that gossip,” he said evenly.

Bilbo snorted. “No indeed. Lobelia always did have a way with words,” he said mildly. “Besides, I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Even before I went away, people were whispering about me, gossiping about why I remained a bachelor. You needn’t worry, Drogo, I can put up with this nonsense on my own just fine,” Bilbo assured him.

“But you shouldn’t have to, Bilbo. I know you’ve clearly been through something terrible, and you don’t need to add this to your troubles. There are still a few of us who would look out for you, if you would let us,” Drogo replied gently. He reached over the table and gently patted Bilbo’s newly calloused hand.

“I- hm.” Bilbo started, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Drogo. I feel lucky indeed to have such a fine hobbit as a cousin,” he smiled.

***

It was past afternoon tea time when Drogo, too, left Bag End, and the door closed behind him with a final click that echoed through the silent hallway. Bilbo sighed as he was left alone once more. He wondered whether this was going to be the rest of his life now, living in grief-stricken reclusiveness and only coming out of his smial for food and the odd begrudging bits of company. Before the quest, the idea of shutting himself indoors and shying away from Shire society was an unpleasant idea, but now that he was home and grieving for such a terrible personal loss that no one in the Shire would even begin to understand, the prospect was quite attractive. And so a number of days passed in the same fashion: Bilbo got up, spent all day in his pyjamas, only eat when he felt like it, took long and scalding baths and only ventured as far as his back porch to consume some Longbottom Leaf. Only occasionally would he venture into town for food, and even then he kept his head down and avoided conversation. The only people Bilbo still spoke to frequently were Holman, Drogo and Hamfast, and even then, their visits were often not very long at all. If ever Lobelia came around to pester him, Bilbo would stay quiet and hide out in his study until he was sure that she was gone. He was in no mood to hear any more from her about his lack of respectability. After all, respectability was hardly important when there was so much more to life, as he had discovered on his adventure. His dwarves were hardly what Hobbits would call respectable, and yet they were the greatest friends Bilbo had ever known. Bilbo huffed a laugh. “Sod respectability,” he muttered to himself.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months in this manner. Each morning, Bilbo dragged himself out of bed and into his living room, where he would sit for a while with his pipe and stare out at the lush green grass and rolling hills of the Shire. If his eyes kept turning East, neither he nor his unintended house guest ever mentioned it. Then, Bilbo would grudgingly make himself some food, building himself back up to eating the full seven meals a day, but some days he still failed. Often, full plates of meat and vegetables and pastries would go untouched and left to go to waste in the pantry. Bilbo then spent the remainder of his day in his study, slowly but surely taking down the story of his adventure, not that he was sure any Hobbit would ever deign to read it. The only people to read it at that point were Bilbo himself, and the ghostly spectre of Thorin, who frequently read over Bilbo’s shoulder and made comments that the hobbit couldn’t hear. “Here, I don’t ‘go on’ in my speeches, I have always been perfectly succinct,” he grumbled one day. Bilbo said nothing and kept writing. Thorin huffed and turned away.

Slowly, Bilbo settled into a routine and his story began to take shape. He wrote about the unexpected party, his run in with the trolls, the visit to Rivendell and was beginning to describe the events of the Goblin tunnels and his encounter with the creature Gollum. However, there were some things that were still too painful to describe, such as Fili and Kili’s youthful antics, the way Thorin had hugged him on the Carrock, and how happy Thorin had looked when they had reached the mountain. These were things that Bilbo would keep to himself for a long time, and it would not be until the arrival of a nephew in Bag End that he would finally speak of his most painful memories. For now, he kept those to himself, only allowing others to know that, at the very least, he had experienced something tragic.

Bilbo’s fifty-third birthday rolled around without much fanfare, and he spent the day in the study as usual, though he did take the time to make himself a respectable breakfast. He reflected on his previous birthdays, how on the previous one, he had not long returned from his quest, and the one before he had spent in Laketown with a terrible cold. All in all, he was sure this one would make a more relaxing change. After breakfast, he went and sat on the bench in his back garden and lit his pipe, taking deep puffs from it periodically as he stared out at the flower beds that Holman had kept so beautifully for him. “Fifty three years old today, huh,” Bilbo muttered to himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the acorn he had picked up at Beorn’s, but had yet to plant, and smiled down at it fondly; he remembered the bright smile Thorin had given him when he presented the acorn to him, and so he treasured it greatly still, regardless of everything that had happened. “I wonder what you were like at my age,” he mumbled. “Probably a complete troublemaking clot, knowing you,” he said. Thorin started, aware that Bilbo was, at least unintentionally, addressing him. He didn’t know whether Bilbo could really hear him or not, but it did not stop him from sitting next to the hobbit on the bench and murmuring a reply. “When I was fifty three…. Well, that must have been the year I fought at Azanulbizar. A troublemaker indeed,” he said with a small smile. He didn’t dare mention that that was the age at which he had lost his father, grandfather, and brother all in one go. It was still a sore subject, despite being reunited with them in Mahal’s halls.

Eventually, Bilbo moved back inside and returned to his study to continue writing. He pushed open the window above his desk to let some air into the room and sat back, eyes downcast. With slightly trembling hands, he opened the red book to the page where he had left off. He had been in the middle of describing the struggle with the stone giants, and how Thorin’s harsh words had made him doubt himself and almost made him turn around and go home. However, it turned out that he was glad that he stayed, and he was glad, in the end, to have known Thorin. No matter how harshly he had treated Bilbo at the beginning. Bilbo sighed sadly, closing the book and staring around at his lonely surroundings. “Eru be damned, I wish you were here,” he whispered to the empty smial. At these words, Thorin’s heart sank. Bilbo still did not know that he was here with him after all, and maybe he never would. Not unless he tried to show him. With a gentle push, Thorin’s ghostly hand sent a stack of unopened letters careering off Bilbo’s desk and falling to the floor, making Bilbo jump. “Ah, that blasted wind!” he cried, reaching to close the window. Thorin groaned and lifted his hands to his head. “No, Bilbo, it was not the wind! It’s me, I am right here and I have been _all along_! Why can’t you see me?!” he cried, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. “I’m right here, Bilbo,” he repeated, over and over again. “I beg of you, please see me.”

But Thorin’s pleading would go unheard for nearly fifty years. And it wouldn’t be Bilbo who would be the first to see him.

But that didn’t stop Thorin from trying to reach him anyway.


	2. An Unexpected Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after his return, Bilbo is visited by Gandalf and then proceeds to try and live normally for the next few years. However, that changes when he receives some beloved guests on his 60th birthday. Meanwhile, Thorin struggles with his guilt and it's up to his closest family to try and help him (mostly by yelling at him)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii! Oh my god, I am SO sorry for the long wait! I'm afraid life has just been so hectic and what with the virus and everything, I haven't found the time to write! However, now I'm safely back home I will try and get the next chapter out much quicker! Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

The first blow to Bilbo’s slowly recovering reputation came shortly before his sixtieth birthday. Upon answering the door to three oddly heavy knocks, Bilbo was confronted by Gandalf’s friendly face smiling down at him. “Gandalf,” he said, surprised but not unpleasantly so. The wizard smiled and pulled Bilbo into a tight embrace. “Bilbo Baggins,” he replied, before Bilbo pulled back. “Please, come in, my friend. I’ll put the kettle on for tea,” he said.

Bilbo stepped inside and padded to the kitchen, allowing Gandalf to trail inside after him. “So what brings you back this way then? Not here to drag me into another blasted adventure, I hope,” Bilbo asked as Gandalf appeared in the kitchen behind him.

Gandalf chuckled and perched himself on a kitchen chair. “No, not this time. I’m headed East, as a matter of fact. I am attending a meeting with Elrond in Rivendell, then going to see how goes the rebuilding of Dale. Though you would be more than welcome to accompany me, if you wished,” he said genially.

Bilbo paused and forced a smile. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I… I don’t think I could. I couldn’t walk back in there without remembering everything that happened, everyone we lost…” he trailed off sadly. Even though it had been nearly a decade since the battle, the grief still hit too close to allow Bilbo to seriously consider a return to the East. Even though his friends were all there and Erebor was no doubt thriving now, there was nothing there for Bilbo’s heart save a cold stone tomb. Gandalf watched him closely for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, my friend,” he said. 

“So what have you been up to over the last few years? Gone off on any more mad adventures?” Bilbo said mildly as he set a full pot of tea down on the table in front of him. Gandalf merely chuckled. “Is that really what you think I get up to when I’m not around?” he asked.

Bilbo gave a noncommittal shrug. “Well, wizards seem to be a mysterious lot, it’s hardly my fault I don’t know what you all get up to when you’re not dragging homely hobbits out of their smials to go off on crazy quests to slay dragons,” he replied smartly. Gandalf huffed and poured out some tea, but a small smile played on his lips. 

“Well if you must know, I’ve been travelling, mostly. I spent many months with Radagast, investigating the spiders and the welfare of the forests, and keeping an eye out for any more trolls. We ran into a few more last month, not far from the trollshaws,” he answered.

Bilbo paused in the middle of pouring his own cup of tea and frowned. “I thought you said trolls don’t normally venture that far South,” he recalled.

Gandalf gave a pleased smile and slowly nodded. “That’s right. And no, they don’t. But since the quest of Erebor, I have sensed a change in the world, and not for the better. Foul creatures have become more numerous and more bold, and I for one believe that there is an evil in Dol Guldur that does not sleep. The other members of the White Council are not so easily convinced, however,” he explained, a deep, concerned frown settling over his face. Bilbo blanched at this news and gripped his cup tighter. Then suddenly, Gandalf looked up from his own cup and his frown lifted. “But it’s not all bad,” he said. “I have also spent much time in Rivendell with Lord Elrond and his young ward Estel, and I have been spending the rest of my time trying to help Middle Earth where I can, and carrying out some research of my own,” he said brightly, before his face and tone once again darkened. “Tell me, Bilbo, you don’t still have that magic ring of yours, do you?” he asked.

Bilbo froze and surreptitiously grasped his pocket where the ring was tucked away. “I do, actually,” he said slowly. “Why do you ask?” Gandalf simply nodded and took another sip of tea. “No reason, my dear Bilbo. Just for the sake of an old man’s curiosity,” he replied. 

“And what of the Shire? How has being home been treating you?” Gandalf asked after a short silence. Bilbo sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you know. It’s fine. I’m still trying to repair my reputation, and a lot of folks are still a bit suspicious of me, but what can you do? I am glad to be home though, truth be told. I missed my books, and my armchair, and my garden. I started to write down the tales of my adventures, but I’m afraid I’ve left it untouched for a while,” he said. Gandalf frowned and leaned round to put a comforting hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “My dear fellow, I am so sorry. I fear that I did you more harm than good when I pushed you out of your door those years ago. If there’s anything I can do to help, I would have you tell me,” he said kindly.

Bilbo smiled at his friend and reached again for his teacup. “Thank you, Gandalf. I’m sure it’ll be fine in time, we’ll see,” he said, rather more optimistic than how he was really feeling. Gandalf simply hummed and returned to his own cup of tea. 

***

“Hello, irak’adad. We thought we might find you here,” 

Thorin started as his nephews came into view beside him. He sighed. “Am I really that predictable?” he asked. Both Fíli and Kíli gave him incredulous, knowing looks. 

“Uncle,” Kíli began slowly, “it’s been nearly a decade since we came to these Halls and you’ve spent a lot of that time watching over Bilbo. We’re worried about you,” he said. Fíli nodded and grasped Thorin’s shoulder, forcing him to look away from the scene between Bilbo and Gandalf before him. “Uncle Frerin thinks you’re still moping about the business with the dragon sickness,” he added. Thorin frowned and attempted to stand straighter.

“That’s not - I don’t…. I don’t _mope_ . And since when did you call him ‘Uncle’?” he replied haughtily. The brothers exchanged a knowing look.

“That doesn’t matter, and no offense Uncle, but you really do. You moped for _ages_ the first time Dwalin beat you at a drinking contest,” Kíli chirped. “This is _different_ and - how do you know about that, you weren’t even there?!” Thorin demanded.

Fíli simply tapped his nose in a knowing manner. “‘ _Amad_ told us. And stop changing the subject!” he said. Thorin cursed under his breath. He knew there would be no escape from his surprisingly shrewd nephews.

“ _Damn it, Dís_ … and fine. I see there’s no getting past you two,” he said in defeat. “I… I admit I still have regrets over my actions when I was sick, especially towards Bilbo. It’s not something I like to admit, but it’s true,” he admitted, the shame and guilt over his actions beginning to settle unwelcome in his chest once again.

“Because you’re a stubborn Durin and you don’t like seeming weak?” Kíli piped up, earning a sharp nudge to the ribs from his brother. To their surprise though, Thorin laughed; a quiet, self-deprecating thing. “Couldn’t have put it better myself. But there’s more to it than that,” he admitted. Kíli nudged his way into Thorin’s side until his uncle’s arm was around his shoulders and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Tell us? We just want to help,” he said softly. Fíli nodded and nudged his way into Thorin’s other side. Thorin looked between the two with a fond smile. “Thank you, _undayûy_. I love you both more than you know. But I do not know how you could possibly help a man who has raised his hands against his One,” he said. 

A short, solemn silence followed, before the two brothers sighed. “Knew it,” Fíli muttered. Thorin turned sharply to look at his eldest nephew.

“You _knew_?” he demanded. Both Fíli and Kíli had the good sense to look sheepish.

“Well we didn’t know for certain that Bilbo was your One, but we all suspected. It was pretty obvious by the time we reached Laketown, after he vouched for you, you looked at him like I’ve never seen you look at anyone else before, and that’s when we both knew,” Kíli replied gently. Thorin closed his eyes as the memories of that day suddenly overwhelmed him. First, the appearance of his One outside of his cell in Mirkwood, keys in hand and a triumphant smile on his face. Then, of course, there was the unpleasant exit down the river, filled with terror and panic as Thorin tried desperately to make sure both Bilbo and his injured nephew were alright. As unpleasant as it had been, though, it had made Thorin even more proud of his One’s cunning and more grateful for his presence. The memory of Bilbo then vouching for him in front of not only the company but also the majority of Laketown still made Thorin’s chest warm even thinking about it. He had proudly given Thorin praise in front of many in order to secure aid from the Men without a second thought, and in that moment Thorin knew he was deeply in love with his burglar. He just hadn’t counted on anyone else realising it, too. Thorin sighed and looked back at his Bilbo, who was still sat chattering away to Gandalf. “I wish I could take it back, what I did that day on the ramparts… all those harsh things I said about him in the beginning. I wish I hadn’t been so blind, and I wish more than anything to make it right somehow,” he murmured. 

“I know, _irak’adad_ ,” Fíli said softly, resting his head on Thorin’s shoulder. “But if I know Bilbo then I’m sure he’s already forgiven you,” he added optimistically. Thorin wished he could share his nephew’s sentiment. 

After a while, Kíli dislodged himself from Thorin’s side and looked towards the door of Bag End. “We should go. _‘Adad_ is challenging _sigin’adad_ to a drinking contest, and Uncle Frerin’s taking bets, I’d hate to miss it,” he said cheerfully. Thorin snorted and pulled his young nephew back into his side, gently butting his forehead against his.

“Oh really now? And I suppose you’ve already placed your bets?” he teased, turning to gently press his forehead against Fíli’s too. 

“Of course! I reckon _‘Adad_ will drink grandfather under the table,” Kíli chirped. Fíli made an assenting noise and Thorin laughed.

“That’s too bad, as I know for a fact that my father is a drinking champion. Where’d you think I got it from?” he said, before turning towards the door. He chuckled to himself at the sounds of his nephew’s curses as they made their way back to the Halls. 

***

“Give my best to the Company if you see them, and King Bard too,” Bilbo said, leaning against the doorjamb as Gandalf began to make his exit some 4 hours later. It was well into the afternoon, and the wizard was keen to get on the road before his path became too heavily shrouded in darkness. Gandalf smiled and clapped Bilbo on the shoulder. “Of course. My offer still stands, though, if you should change your mind…?” he said. Bilbo’s smile faltered and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Thank you, Gandalf, but I haven’t changed my mind. I still don’t think I’m ready just yet,” he replied, trying desperately to ignore the dull ache in his chest at the thought of Erebor, and the memory of watching the love of his life die right before his eyes and not being able to stop it. Gandalf nodded in understanding and made his way down the steps, turning to face Bilbo once at the bottom. “Farewell for now, my friend,” he smiled. Bilbo smiled and gave a jaunty wave in return.“Goodbye, Gandalf! Don’t forget you are welcome at any time, tea is at the usual time,” he said.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at the familiar words and chuckled to himself. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he called back, before turning out of the gate and disappearing down the lane. Bilbo breathed a relieved sigh and stepped back into his smial. As much as he liked Gandalf, he always got the uncomfortable feeling that the wizard could see right through him and tell exactly what he was thinking. It was a feeling that he didn’t feel that he would ever get used to. 

Bilbo settled back into his usual routine once again, and as summer gave way to autumn he prepared to spend his sixtieth birthday alone, as he had done the last few years. It seemed that since his return to the Shire, most hobbits were still suspicious and had no interest in having anything to do with him whatsoever. Not that Bilbo always minded. Now that he had seen the wider world and got to experience life outside of the Shire, he found most of his kin to be overwhelmingly close-minded and consumed by their own self-interest, and thus he kept his interactions with them to a minimum except to occasionally attend parties and have relatives over for afternoon tea so as to not seem entirely antisocial and reclusive. Besides, he still had to keep rebuilding his reputation, which, after Gandalf’s recent visit, had taken another slight hit when Lobelia had spied the wizard entering Bag End that afternoon. Bilbo sighed as he dished himself up his afternoon tea, piling up homemade scones and sandwiches and pastries onto one of his mother’s old china plates. Despite the painful memories reflecting on the journey brought back, he couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the terrifying and haphazard way his dwarves had tossed his fine china around like they were nothing, and the way that they had the nerve to sing a mocking song about it while they did so. Bilbo had been absolutely horrified at the time, but now that he looked back on it, it was one of those memories that he found he could actually laugh at. Without intending to, he began to hum the jaunty tune quietly to himself as he finished piling food onto his plate and carried it through to his sitting room. He had only got through about half of his plate of food when out of the blue, the doorbell rang. Bilbo sighed and reluctantly got to his feet, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece as he did so. 

The time was 4pm. 

***

“Typical. As soon as the drinking ends, you return to your moping,” said a voice from behind Thorin, making him jump and turn to face the speaker, scowling.

“For the last time, _naddith_ , I do not mope. I’m just tired,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. Frerin snorted and sat himself beside his older brother where Thorin was sitting on his bed. “Yeah, no one believed you the first time you made that excuse,” he replied, leaning back against the headboard. Thorin continued to glower at his little brother, and Frerin shot him a sharp glare right back. “Look, I get you have regrets and that you’re missing your hobbit, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to act like a royal arse,” he continued. Thorin opened his mouth to protest but was cut off when Frerin spoke again. “ _Uh uh_ , don’t give me that look, you _are_ acting like an arse, and everyone can see it. You’re lucky _‘amad_ sent me to talk to you instead of her, quite frankly. You know how scary she is when she gets cross with us,” he said. Thorin huffed and unfolded his arms, leaning back on his hands. “Yes, I am well aware. What would you have me do?” he said quietly, looking down at his boots. Frerin sighed and shuffled back to sit next to Thorin, turning his brother’s head to look at him. “Talk to us, _nadad_. We want to help, but we can’t do that if you don’t let us in. I know this isn’t something you’ve ever been good at, but if we’re going to be stuck in these Halls until the remaking of the world, you cannot carry on like this until then!” he urged, pulling his brother’s head down until he could gently butt their foreheads together. 

Thorin sighed and leaned into the forehead touch. “I promise I will try. I can’t promise I’ll always get it right. I’m not as good at talking about my feelings as you or Dís, you know that,” he said. Frerin grinned and pulled Thorin into a one-armed side hug.

“Trust me, I _do_ know. Even when we were young you didn’t like telling people how you were feeling. Something about it ‘not being kingly behaviour’ or some bullshit,” he laughed. Thorin rolled his eyes but allowed himself to smile at his younger brother’s humour. “You do know kings aren’t incapable of having feelings, right? It’s important to me that you know that,” Frerin said lightly, nudging Thorin’s arm. In response, Thorin rolled his eyes again.

“Well I know that _now_ ,” he grumbled. He then sighed and leaned against his younger brother’s shoulder. “Look,” he started. “I have… regrets. Lots of them. And I wish more than anything that I could go back and make things right. But I can’t,” he sighed. Frerin frowned and gave Thorin a questioning look.

“What kind of regrets?” he asked. Thorin made a vague gesture with his hand.

“Just… everything. Smaug. Losing you and father. Not being able to save all of our people. The gold madness. Leading my One into dangers and then raising a hand to him with the intent to kill! There are so many things I could and should have done differently, or things I wish I could have prevented but… I just wasn’t strong enough,” he cried, finally putting into words some of the weight that had settled in his chest over the years. His dour thoughts were interrupted by a loud snort from Frerin and he started, turning to look at his brother with wide eyes. “What?” he demanded. 

Frerin sighed. “Just… you. You’re being ridiculous, Thorin! Why do you blame yourself for things that were out of your control?” he admonished. Thorin opened his mouth to protest, but Frerin continued. “There was absolutely _no_ way that you could have prevented Smaug from coming, no one could! And even when he did come, you could not possibly have fought him off alone, surely you know this! As for Azanûlbizar? _Nadad_ , what happened to me and father was just one of those things that happened, and you could not have kept your eyes on all of us at the same time, else you yourself probably would have been killed!” he cried, his voice beginning to rise in volume, causing Thorin to lean back in surprise as Frerin continued his tirade. “And how many times have we told you already? You, a single dwarf, cannot possibly save everyone, no matter how much you wish you could! Thorin, you forget that you saved so many lives after Erebor fell, you led so many of our people to the Blue Mountains and made a peaceful and prosperous life for them. For Mahal’s sake, Thorin, our nephews got a safe and stable home to grow up in because _you_ gave it to them! The gold madness? You know full well none of us of Durin’s line were immune to it, and you forget that you pulled yourself out of it in the end! So stop pretending you’re invincible for a moment and give yourself some credit!” Frerin yelled, now having worked himself up into a frustrated frenzy. As he took a deep breath to calm himself down, Thorin could not help but stare at his golden-haired, usually cheerful younger brother. Never before had he seen him so angry. When he was finally calmed down, Frerin continued. “And as for you and Bilbo, well… he signed the contract, didn’t he? He heard you talk about the dangers of the quest and agreed to come, right? Doesn’t it stand to reason that the only reason he went on your dangerous quest is because he wanted to? I mean, you didn’t force him, right?” Frerin asked.

Thorin blinked and slowly shook his head. “No,” he replied.

Frerin shrugged his shoulders. “Well there you go, then. Not your fault. And as for your actions at the gate? Well, you know what you did was wrong now, and Bilbo clearly forgave you. So why do you keep beating yourself up about it?” Frerin finished, voice slightly hoarse from the shouting.

Thorin sighed. “Because I still put the life of my One beneath the existence of a shiny rock,” he said.

Frerin sighed. “Yeah, we’re going to have to keep working on that one.” 

***

Bilbo paused for a moment, staring at the clock. The clock face definitely told him it was 4 o’clock, even after he had closed his eyes and opened them a few seconds later, just to double check. His hands jittered in his pockets as he made his way to the front door, just as the doorbell rang again. He had told his friends that they were more than welcome to come for tea any day at 4 o’clock, but he had tried hard not to get his hopes up. Now, after almost a decade alone, could they really be standing outside his door?

The answer, surprisingly, was _yes_.

Bilbo let out a surprised gasp as he wrenched the door open and found all ten of the remaining members of the Company standing on the steps up to his door, headed by Balin, Dwalin and Bofur. Bilbo didn’t realise he had been standing there, staring, until Bofur cleared his throat. “You said tea was at four, we’re not too late are we?” he asked with a sly grin. Bilbo shook himself out of his daze and responded with a bright smile of his own. “Not at all, you’re just in time! Please, my friends, come in. It is wonderful to see you all again,” he said, stepping back and opening the door to let his dwarves inside. Unlike the last time they had visited, they filed in in an orderly and polite manner, divesting themselves of their weapons and hanging up their cloaks before they turned their attention to Bilbo. The hobbit in question only had a moment to gather himself before he found himself squeezed in a tight hug by Bofur and his face full of the dwarf’s dark hair. “We’ve missed you so much, Bilbo!” he cried. Bilbo laughed and patted his friend’s shoulders as he was released from Bofur’s hold. “I’ve missed you too, all of you,” he replied giddily. He then laughed as he was next accosted by Bifur and Bombur and pulled into nearly bone-breaking bear hugs. “Mister Baggins! Wonderful to see you again,” Bombur said as he released Bilbo, and gave the hobbit a friendly pat on the back. Bilbo smiled at the two cousins weakly as he tried to regain his breath. “You too, both of you,” he replied, still somewhat breathlessly.

Bifur grinned. “He’s so tiny, I forgot we need to watch our own strength around him,” he joked. Bilbo simply sent him his most withering look his way.

Once Bilbo was sure he had regained his breath, he almost had it knocked out of him again when Ori practically threw himself into his arms. “Mister Bilbo!” he cried, burying his face in Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo laughed and patted the dwarf on the back. “Just Bilbo, please Ori! We’re well past the need for formalities I think,” he chuckled. Ori pulled away, looking somewhat bashful, but nodded in agreement. “Of course, Bilbo,” he said. Bilbo then jumped as he felt an arm settle around his shoulders from behind, and turned his head to see Nori leaning against him, a smug grin plastered on his face. From across the hall, Dori rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s dramatics. “Whatever it is you’ve pinched, Nori, I’d thank you kindly to put it back,” Bilbo said mildly, though he struggled to keep a smile from his face. Nori cursed under his breath and Bilbo could feel the thief withdraw something small from his pocket as the company around them burst into raucous laughter. “Damn, you’re good. And you told us you weren’t an expert,” Nori said. Bilbo grinned and leaned into the dwarf’s shoulder. “I’m not, I just know you, Nori,” he replied simply. Across the room, Dwalin snorted and muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “predictable bastard”. 

“Alright you, hands off our burglar, some of us haven’t had a chance to hug him yet,” Dori admonished, shooing Nori away so he could gather Bilbo into a fierce hug. Bilbo let out a strangled _‘oof’_ sound as he found his breath forced out of him, but he quickly recovered and reached round to pat Dori on the back. “It’s good to see you again, Dori,” he wheezed. Glóin came next, and was equally as enthusiastic in hugging Bilbo, causing Óin to huff behind them. “Remember your strength, brother, don’t you go breaking our burglar’s ribs now,” he grumbled. Glóin laughed and pulled back, ruffling Bilbo’s hair as he went.

“Relax, you daft bugger, he’s fine! Our burglar’s got a spine of mithril, he can handle a little rough handling,” he said cheerfully, even as Bilbo tried to protest otherwise. Óin sighed and approached Bilbo. “Apologies for my brother, Bilbo, he means well. You’re not hurt?” he said.

Bilbo chuckled and accepted the gentler embrace from the healer. “Not at all, but I appreciate the concern all the same,” he replied. Óin seemed satisfied with his answer and released him with a pat on the shoulder. “Go easy on him, Fundinson,” he called over his shoulder as he ambled into the living room, leaving Bilbo to greet Balin and Dwalin.

Bilbo turned to the two brothers with a sense of unease. It wasn’t that they had disliked him in the end; quite the opposite, in fact; but Bilbo couldn’t help but feel guilty around them ever since Thorin, Fíli and Kíli had died. The two sons of Fundin had been the closest to the royal trio out of all the company, and even after all these years Bilbo still couldn’t help feeling that he had let the pair down somehow. Even now, in the coldest and darkest winter nights when Bilbo was at his lowest, horrid thoughts swirled around in his head: _What if I had been quicker? Why did I have to pass out? Why was I not strong enough?_ And the most common: _What if my friends hate me for not saving Thorin?_ Such thoughts were enough to make him cry most nights. And now, as he stood before the two brothers, he couldn’t help but worry that they held a grudge against him for Thorin and the princes’ deaths. 

But it seemed that his worries were unfounded.

Balin stepped forward with a bright smile as Bilbo shook himself out of his reveries. “Bilbo!” he said cheerfully, gently drawing Bilbo in by the shoulders until their foreheads touched. “It is wonderful to see you again, laddie,” he continued.

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “It is lovely to see you again too, Balin. It’s been too long,” he said.

The dwarf pulled back and patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “Aye, that it has. Are you well?” he asked sincerely, with an oddly knowing look in his eyes.

Bilbo gulped and nodded. “About as well as I can be, I suppose. How about yourself?” he replied.

Balin shrugged. “I’m well enough. There’s been lots of work to do, but I believe one of these days all will be well and Erebor will be prospering once again,” he said, nodding sagely to himself. He then glanced over his shoulder, only to find Dwalin gone from where he had stood a few minutes previously. “Oh, where’s he got to? Brother, are you going to come and say hello to Master Baggins?” he called. From the living room, there came a loud _‘mmph!’_ noise, as if someone was trying to speak with their mouth full.

Bilbo chuckled. “Ah, he’s found my cookies again,” he said, and was proven right a moment later when Dwalin stomped into the hall, still chewing on the remains of an oatmeal cookie, with crumbs nestled in his beard and a guilty look on his face. Balin pulled a disapproving face at Dwalin as his brother finished his cookie. The younger son of Fundin had the sense to look sheepish as he turned to Bilbo. “I apologise, Bilbo. I just remembered how good your cooking was and I couldn’t help myself,” he said. Balin coughed and muttered “I’m sure you could’ve,” under his breath, causing Dwalin to elbow him in the arm.

Bilbo suddenly laughed aloud and shook his head. “No need to apologise, Dwalin, it’s quite alright. They’re there to be eaten after all,” he said, approaching the dwarf. Dwalin grinned and pulled Bilbo into yet another bear hug. “Ah, it’s good to see ye, burglar,” he said.

Bilbo relaxed in his hold and hugged him back. “You too, Dwalin,” he answered. A moment later, Dwalin released Bilbo, and with a tug on the hem of his waistcoat, the hobbit turned to his friends. “All right, who’s for some tea? I’m sure you’ll all be needing some, and my pantry is well stocked and at your disposal,” he said. His only response was a chorus of cheers and laughter and several pats on the back. As if on cue, the dwarves began milling about, pulling out tables and chairs and cutlery as Bilbo headed to the pantry. “Well,” he said to himself. “It’s almost like I’ve done this before.” And with that, he began picking food out of his pantry to cook for his dwarves. 

From the corner of the kitchen, Thorin smiled as he observed his One prepare the food with a satisfied smile on his face. “I’ve missed your smile, _âzyungelê_ ,” he murmured. As if on cue, Bilbo’s smile widened, as his friends piled into the kitchen to haphazardly help with the food, much like they had all those years ago. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> irak'adad - Uncle  
> 'Amad - Mother  
> Undayûy - (the) Greatest boys  
> 'Adad - Father  
> Sigin'adad - Grandfather  
> Naddith - Little/young brother  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Âzyungêle - Love of all loves

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "In Memoriam" by the Oh Hellos, which is SUCH a bagginshield song it hurts


End file.
